‘Elistan is of no use to me.’ The Dragon Highlord shrugged without interest. ‘He is not the one I seek.’
‘No?’ Skie raised his head, startled. ‘Who, then?’
‘There are three in whom I have particular interest. But I will provide you with descriptions of all of them’—the Dragon Highlord moved closer to Skie—‘because it is to capture them that we participate in the destruction of Tarsis tomorrow. Here are those whom we seek...’
Tanis strode across the frozen plains, his booted footsteps punching noisily through the crust of wind-swept snow. The sun rose at his back, bringing a great deal of light but little warmth. He clutched his cloak about him and glanced around to make certain no one was lagging behind. The companions’ line stretched out single-file. They trod in each other’s tracks, the heavier, stronger people in front clearing the way for the weaker ones behind them.
Tanis led them. Sturm walked beside him, steadfast and faithful as ever, though still upset over leaving behind the Hammer of Kharas, which had taken on an almost mystical quality for the knight. He appeared more careworn and tired than usual, but he never failed to keep step with Tanis. This was not an easy feat, since the knight insisted on traveling in his full, antique battle armor, the weight of which forced Sturm’s feet deep into the crusted snow.
Behind Sturm and Tanis came Caramon, trudging through the snow like a great bear, his arsenal of weapons clanking around him, carrying his armor and his share of supplies, as well as those of his twin brother, Raistlin, on his back. Just watching Caramon made Tanis weary, for the big warrior was not only walking through the deep snow with ease but was also managing to widen the trail for the others behind him.
Of all of the companions the one Tanis might have felt closest to, since they had been raised together as brothers, was the next, Gilthanas. But Gilthanas was an elflord, younger son of the Speaker of the Suns, ruler of the Qualinesti elves, while Tanis was a bastard and only half elven, product of a brutal rape by a human warrior. Worse, Tanis had dared to find himself attracted—even if in a childish, immature fashion—to Gilthanas’s sister, Laurana. And so, far from being friends, Tanis always had the uneasy impression that Gilthanas might well be pleased to see him dead.
Riverwind and Goldmoon walked together behind the elflord. Cloaked in their furskin capes, the cold was little to the Plainsmen. Certainly the cold was nothing compared to the flame in their hearts. They had been married only a little over a month, and the deep love and compassion each felt for the other, a self-sacrificing love that had led the world to the discovery of the ancient gods, now achieved greater depths as they discovered new ways to express it.
Then came Elistan and Laurana. Elistan and Laurana. Tanis found it odd that, thinking enviously of the happiness of Riverwind and Goldmoon, his eyes should encounter these two. Elistan and Laurana. Always together. Always deeply involved in serious conversation. Elistan, cleric of Paladine, resplendent in white robes that gleamed even against the snow. White-bearded, his hair thinning, he was still an imposing figure. The kind of man who might well attract a young girl. Few men or women could look into Elistan’s ice-blue eyes and not feel stirred, awed in the presence of one who had walked the realms of death and found a new and stronger faith.
With him walked his faithful “assistant,” Laurana. The young elfmaid had run away from her home in Qualinesti to follow Tanis in childish infatuation. She had been forced to grow up rapidly, her eyes opened to the pain and suffering in the world. Knowing that many of the party—Tanis among them—considered her a nuisance, Laurana struggled to prove her worth. With Elistan she found her chance. Daughter to the Speaker of the Suns of the Qualinesti, she had been born and bred to politics. When Elistan was foundering among the rocks of trying to feed and clothe and control eight hundred men, women, and children, it was Laurana who stepped in and eased his burden. She had become indispensable to him, a fact Tanis found difficult to deal with. The half-elf gritted his teeth, letting his glance flick over Laurana to fall on Tika.
The barmaid turned adventuress walked through the snow with Raistlin, having been asked by his brother to stay near the frail mage, since Caramon was needed up front. Neither Tika nor Raistlin seemed happy with this arrangement. The red-robed mage walked along sullenly, his head bowed against the wind. He was often forced to stop, coughing until he nearly fell. At these times, Tika would start to put her arm around him hesitantly, her eyes seeing Caramon’s worry. But Raistlin always pulled away from her with a snarl.
The ancient dwarf came next, bowling along through the snow; the tip of his helm and the tassel ‘from the mane of a griffon’ were all that were visible above the snow. Tanis had tried to tell him that griffons had no manes, that the tassel was horsehair. But Flint, stoutly maintaining that his hatred of horses stemmed from the fact that they made him sneeze violently, believed none of it. Tanis smiled, shaking his head. Flint had insisted on being at the front of the line. It was only after Caramon had pulled him out of three snow drifts that Flint agreed, grumbling, to walk ‘rear guard.’
Skipping along beside Flint was Tasslehoff Burrfoot, his shrill, piping voice audible to Tanis in the front of the line. Tas was regaling the dwarf with a marvelous tale about the time he found a woolly mammoth—whatever that was—being held prisoner by two deranged wizards. Tanis sighed. Tas was getting on his nerves. He had already sternly reprimanded the kender for hitting Sturm in the head with a snowball. But he knew it was useless. Kender lived for adventure and new experiences. Tas was enjoying every minute of this dismal journey.
Yes, they were all there. They were all still following him.
Tanis turned around abruptly, facing south. Why follow me? He asked resentfully. I hardly know where my life is going, yet I’m expected to lead others. I don’t have Sturm’s driving quest to rid the land of dragons, as did his hero Huma. I don’t have Elistan’s holy quest to bring knowledge of the true gods to the people. I don’t even have Raistlin’s burning quest for power.
Sturm nudged him and pointed ahead. A line of small hills stood on the horizon. If the kender’s map was correct, the city of Tarsis lay just beyond them. Tarsis, and white-winged ships, and spires of glittering white. Tarsis the Beautiful.
3
Tarsis the Beautiful
Tanis spread out the kender’s map. They had arrived at the foot of the range of barren and treeless hills which, according to the map, must overlook the city of Tarsis.
‘We don’t dare climb those in daylight,’ Sturm said, drawing his scarf down from his mouth. ‘We’d be visible to everything within a hundred miles.’
‘No,’ Tanis agreed. ‘We’ll make camp here at the base. I’ll climb, though, to get a look at the city.’
‘I don’t like this, not one bit!’ Sturm muttered gloomily.
‘Something’s wrong. Do you want me to go with you?’
Tanis, seeing the weariness in the knight’s face, shook his head, ‘You get the others organized.’ Dressed in a winter traveling cloak of white, he prepared to climb the snow-covered, rock-strewn hills, Ready to start, he felt a cold hand on his arm. He turned and looked into the eyes of the mage.
‘I will come with you,’ Raistlin whispered.
Tanis stared at him in astonishment, then glanced up at the hills. The climb would not be an easy one, and he knew the mage’s dislike of extreme physical exertion. Raistlin saw his glance and understood.